Oracle
by Nythembra
Summary: The gates of Hell have been sealed, and the nightmares afflicting two human boys have seemingly ended. Though to Sam and Dean Winchester, the job is never over. Yet, with the end of the battle, and Heaven closed to the fallen, there is only one thing left that Castiel could ever need, and he'll go to the ends of the Earth to find it. - Post series. Destiel?
1. Chapter One

_Supernatural © Kripke, Singer _

_I'm taking a break from writing Saving Chaos, but I'm definitely planning on finishing it. Instead, I've been working on a few smaller projects like this one so I don't get bored by working on a single story. This particular one will probably have three to four parts to it, but there will probably be long periods between updates. Enjoy._

UPDATE: I rewrote this chapter some time ago and meant to re upload it. Sorry for the confusion. Section two is currently being written.

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**_Oracle  
_Part One**

It's raining the night he finds the Oracle. From his spot above the city he sees the glimmer among the glowing street lights and cars, a blue flash that illuminates the entire block. No one else notices it, but then, no mortals would with their simple, human eyes. Instead they see nothing and continue on with their business, moving with the flow of their lives, blind to any mystery happening around them.

There is a flicker, and in the matter of a simple thought, he vanishes and reappears in the city far below, escaping from the harsh wind and chill dampness of his place in the clouds. Not that the weather is any nuisance to him. He often enjoys the feeling of rain on his skin, and doesn't think to wipe away the wet drops trickling from his hair and into his eyes. The cold he couldn't feel even if he wished to.

He appears on a wet sidewalk, under a cloth overhang that is flapping gently in the blustery, autumn shower, the rain running off of it in steady streams. The street is mostly empty, save for very few cars parked along the edges. This area of the city is sleepy, and not many people venture here even on the best of days. The shops are small and the buildings are dingy, painted in dark greens and maroons that have faded over the years, their original charm gone with them. The particular store he stands before is dark and quiet. He scans the outside, worn and dull like the rest. The name is silly - all three words beginning with the letter M - and scrawled over the large, front window, in golden calligraphy.

He tilts his head at the appearance of the place, and ruffles his wings a bit, hearing them sing as droplets of water are flung from his steely feathers in glittering beads under the street lamps. His pale eyes skim the dusty shelf just inside of the window, and it's covered in small, odd looking nicknacks that only God-knows-who would be interested in. Glittering crystals, awkwardly shaped vials, statuettes and pendants of strange creatures, and sticks of incense. Like the shop name, it is certainly a place of minor magics and mysticisms.

As he peers through the window there is a flash before him. A gust of strange energy comes with it, and all six of his senses are clouded in blue. It's gone almost the moment it happens, but leaves behind a lingering tingle of magical proportions. Through the shop window he sees the color almost hang in the air before it shrinks into a small point, somewhere in the dark, and a certain thrill runs through him, making him shiver.

He's finally found what he's been looking for.

The shop sign is turned backwards in the window of the door, displaying the word "closed" in chipping paint and splintering wood. It's no concern of his, and in the matter of a simple thought, he's within the dark shop.

The inside is just as mystical as the shop front, brandished in sheets of purple velvet covered in strange objects. They created strange shadows in the low light, twisted and gnarled black shapes that climb the walls. The interior is dusty and humid, as though no widows have been open in ages. Normally he might take a moment to study some of the objects, but now his mind his distracted with the thought of coming across the object he's been searching for.

Glancing around he notices a heavy curtain hanging from the ceiling, covering a space in the wall, and moves to it silently. He lifts a gentle hand to the hem, and a voice breaks the silence in his mind, an old, crackly voice, mumbling with uncertainty. He stops, leaving his hand hanging in the air.

_Just come in, will you, friend? I know you're here. I've been waiting for you._

A moment of hesitation, and he pulls back the curtain, revealing a small room with a large window, much like the one in the front of the shop. Curtains are drawn over most of it, leaving only a small sliver of silvery light that pools into the area, lighting the floor. A small table, too low to sit at with any chair, is in the center, surrounded by pillows. The walls are covered with shelves of books.

_Come closer, friend. Please. _

He looks to the table where a small, dark figure is crouched, and tilts his head in interest. He moves the few feet from the clothed doorway and slowly kneels on a cushion near the table, not taking his eyes from the figure. The silver beam of light streams between them, particles of dust illuminated, drifting about.

They sit in silence for a moment, and he can feel the person before him studying him before the figure leans forward, their face suddenly lit by the dim stream.

The old woman's skin is pale, but her eyes by far surpass the lightness of it. Her vision has been impaired by cataracts, and the milky blue that covers their true color is eery. A smile breaks across her face, revealing crooked, stained teeth. With a small, contented laugh, she speaks, her voice hoarse and wheezy. "Ah, welcome. You finally found it, I see. I feel you've been looking for it for quite some time. Followed it's energy right here, I bet, didn't you?"

He can tell that this woman is special, and it's apparent that her senses allow her to know things that most people would never be able to understand. Yet, while many others like her hold a distinct power from within, hers is different; concentrated, yet ambient. His curiosity heightens and he takes a small peek at her soul, seeing a bright form of wispy, white light. Yet beneath the surface there is something else, burning a white hot and far surpassing the warmth of a normal, human spirit.

"Your wings are beautiful."

He pulls his eyes from her essence and gazes with surprise up into her face. The woman is smiling brightly, seeing him just as he views her. "Yes," she croaks, "it's been a long time since I've met one of you, and even longer since I've been home. But don't think for a second that I can't see them anymore. I've not become dull like the rest of them." Her smile fades and she reaches tentatively into her pocket with a wrinkled, trembling hand. "Yes, it's been a long, long time since I've been home. Though, I think perhaps now would be a good time to return, don't you, Castiel?"

She pulls forth a small object that glows dimly in the low light, but it is enough to create blue reflections that dance along the walls. As she uncurls her fingers, the glow becomes slightly brighter, and the object is clearly in the form of a small, three sided pyramid. Curiously, he leans forward to look more closely.

It seems almost to be carved from liquid, perfectly clear and viscous. The blue light comes from within it, though he can't pinpoint exactly how or where. It simply glows and flickers, and Castiel feels as though he's staring into a deep pool of pure water, only to see moons and stars glimmering at the bottom.

"Do you miss it that much," he asks, speaking finally as he sits up. His rough voice is quite and timid, even in the silent room, and the light thumping of the rain on the window almost drowns him out. To his surprise, the old woman laughs. A hearty cackle that lights up her face.

"When you've lived as a mortal for a long as I have, you start to miss your wings. My body is old, and I cannot get around as I once could. My reason to stay on Earth has been gone for many years. I wish to return home." She sets the pyramid on the table and it continues to send dancing lights across the bookshelves and ceiling, illuminating the room.

Castiel gazes at the object and his wings tremble excitedly at it's presence. He can sense the energy from it enveloping the air around them. His feathers sing at the movement, their sharp edges almost vibrating. For a moment, he can't help but to reach out and touch the gleaming artifact, to gently brush the tip of the pyramid with his finger.

The blue light inside seems to ripple from where his skin meets the surface, and a low hum fills the air for a moment before it slowly disperses. As the angel pulls his hand away, an odd sensation tingles through his fingers. He brings the tips of them to his eyes, seeing a small, risen, red mark on his skin, yet it fades in seconds, healed by his grace. Glancing up to the woman in front of him, he notices her smiling, her sightless eyes focussed on his face.

"The energy doesn't get along well with others," she says hoarsely.

He tilts his head in confusion before dropping his gaze back to the artifact. "I don't understand," he states inquisitively, "how can I use it then?"

She leans forward, reaching for Castiel's hand resting on the table, covering it in her own, soft and wrinkled. When she speaks, her voice is low and serious, a dark tone enveloping her. "You must be sure you want to do this, Castiel. Once done, it can never be reversed."

Castiel lowers his eyes and scans the table quietly, before closing them tightly and inhaling deeply through his nose. "Yes," he whispers. "I'm certain. This is what I want."

"You're positive," she questions earnestly. "You have to be sure. You must understand everything you are giving up. It wont be like anything else you've experienced. Not a simple draining of the battery. Your grace can never be returned to you this way."

"I'm certain," Castiel replies, opening his eyes again and gazing up at her, his eyebrows narrowed slightly with determination. "It's worth it."

The old woman pulls her hand away from his and lays it in her lap. "I hope so, Castiel. If not, I only pray that you can find something that is."

Castiel leans forward a bit, his eyes softly flickering to the glowing pyramid in the center of the table. "May I take the Oracle for my own?"

A strange smile spreads across the old woman's face, and she shakes her head slightly. "The Oracle is not yours to take, Castiel, but It is mine to give."

The angel narrows his eyes again and it is his turn to shake his head. "I'm sorry, I don't understand what you mean."

"It seems you believe as I once believed. The pyramid holds much power, but it is not quite what it seems. It may only work for one person at a time, you see. I have already asked my question of it, and until I choose to give it to someone for my own reasons, then the pyramid will not work for anyone else. It is how the artifact avoids falling into unclean hands.

The angel feels his wings dip, and he lowers his eyes to the table once more. "I can't, ask then. It wouldn't be right when there's little I have to offer you."

"Oh, Castiel," she says gently, "I don't wish to carry this with me any longer." She reaches down and carefully picks up the pyramid, drawing it to her face. Her sightless eyes focus into the swirling light and carved liquid, and a morose look come upon her. "It reminds me only of who I sacrificed everything for. He is long gone now." She pulls her eyes from the pyramid and back to the man in front of her. " If there is anything you can offer me, it is that I wish to return home. Let me go home."

A feeling of empathy tugs in Castiel's chest, and he lets out a resigned sigh. The ache in her voice is more than enough to wish to help her. "It's not quite what it was any longer," he warns gently. "Things have changed."

"I'm well aware of the challenges you've faced, archangel." She narrows her eyes and leans forward a bit. "I am more than willing to face a moment of disappointment if it means I can have my wings back for an eternity." She grins the slightest bit, then. "Besides, I'm not exactly going back to how I was the way I left. I'll be but a guest, just like the rest." She pulls the pyramid close to her chest and closes her eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. "I have been waiting for one of you for a long time, and now that you have come, I wish to give you what you seek, if only you will make one small promise to me."

Castiel's eyes raise to meet hers again, and he lowers his eyebrows in mild confusion. "I will do what I can," he murmurs.

"No, Castiel," the old woman say sternly, her eyes opening once more. "You must promise me. Before I give you the pyramid, you must swear you will do what I ask."

The angel hesitates, unsure of if he should trust her words or her intentions. He lowers his eyes to his hands in his lap and thinks hard, his mind racing. When the old woman breaks into his train of thought, her voice is quiet and gentle, almost pleading.

"I promise you it will bring no harm to anyone, love. This will only effect me."

He lifts his head back up as a small wave of relief comes over him at her words. Anxiously, he eyes the pyramid in her hands, and for a moment, he reminds himself why it is he wishes to have it. A warm feeling comes over him. A peaceful calm that assures him of what he's doing. "I promise," he says in a low voice, "I'll do whatever you ask of me, as long as it's within reason of what you say."

She smiles then, a crooked grin that displays her rotted teeth, and she nods silently, a small tear slipping down her face. Slowly, she holds out the pyramid, uncurling her fingers from it and letting it sit flat in her palm. After a moment of hesitation, she speaks, her voice a barely audible whisper. "Then, Castiel, may the gift I've been given, be given to you."

The pyramid flashes brightly, blue clouds all of Castiel's senses, and a low hum fills the air, getting louder and louder until he can hear the window rattling in it's frame. He leans back, away from the object as it expels a wave of energy that makes the angel's joints tingle.

The humming is gone seconds after it begins, and the light diminishes almost instantly. Bewildered, Castiel scans the room before his eyes land on the old woman, still at the table. Her hand is lifted slightly into the air, and her sightless eyes are fixed on something in front of her. With a sharp intake of breath, Castiel sees it as well.

In between them, hovering silently a few feet above the ground, is the pyramid. Rotating in the air, it glows now with a more profound blue, and the lights that reflect through the liquid and onto the bookshelves are brighter than before.

Hesitantly, the angel reaches out to the object, expecting the burning sensation upon touching it again. Yet when his skin comes in contact with the surface, a soft, coolness meets him instead. The carved liquid flashes again, though not nearly as bright as a moment ago, and Castiel is suddenly urged to touch the object again. To hold it in his hand and feel the weight of it in his palm. Slowly, he reaches out and lifts the pyramid from the air.

He's surprised to find that it's almost weightless, and for a moment he wonders if he really picked it up at all. Deep from the dark center of the crystal clear liquid, a low hum escapes, and a cloud of blue light swirls through the inside. Both fade and are gone again, only a moment later, and the angel lets out a deep breath. "Thank you, sister."

The old woman smiles quietly. "It is yours now, Castiel. Will you keep your promise?"

He lifts his eyes from the object in his hand and nods silently.

Slowly, and with some effort, the old woman stands, using the table to help her stay balanced, and bats away Castiel's hand as he reaches to help her, grunting stubbornly. When she's steady, she lets out a breath and moves her pale eyes to his, studying him, looking him up and down as if seeing him for the first time. "If my vessel had been nearly as good looking as yours, maybe I wouldn't be the mess I am now," she says with a husky chuckle.

Putting the pyramid in the pocket of his overcoat, Castiel speaks to her softly, "Please, tell me what it is you wish me to do, sister. I am sorry to say I am in a bit of a hurry."

"It's very simple, my friend," she croaks out. "As I said, I have been on this earth for quite some time now. I wish to go home. All I ask is for you to help me."

The angel stops short and leans back slightly, gazing at her intently. "I'm not sure how I can do that."

"Yes you are, Castiel," she replies quietly. "Please don't break your promise to me."

He feels his heart drop in his chest, and a sinking feeling comes over him. "I don't think I can keep it. It's against everything I stand for, everything I've been-"

"I thought you were leaving that all behind anyway." The interruption is impatient and irate. "Castiel, don't think that if you don't keep this promise I won't find I way to return myself. If I am to go, please let it be by the hand of one of my kin."

His head drops and he squeezes his eyes closed. "Alright," he chokes out before lifting his face back up. "I'll do it."

The old woman smiles again and nods once. "Thank you. Thank you dearly." She steps closer to him, moving right up to his vessel. "There's nothing I wish to do before hand, and nothing that needs taking care of. Please, just leave me here among the books." She rests her hands at her sides, and her head lowers.

Castiel looks upon her morosely, hesitating a moment before gently lifting his hands to her shoulders. Almost silently, he whispers out a string of words in Enochian, and a white light appears in the palms of both his hands. In the depths of her soul, he can see the white heat of an angel's spirit as it bursts with energy, and for a moment, he closes his eyes as he whispers to her. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

A small smile, and another husky laugh. "And I you."

Castiel pulls his hands away from her shoulders, and the soul inside of her bursts from her body in wispy tendrils of white light, stretching and curling into the air before the ends of them break away from her shoulders like strings. The room is lit intensely in every corner for the few moments that the wispy light hovers in the room before it seems to silently rise up through the ceiling, leaving the room dark once again.

The woman's body sways a moment, before falling limply, and Castiel reaches out to catch her in his arms. Slowly, he lets her down on the cushions and pillows that surround the small table, laying her softly on her side. Her eyes are closed, and her face is peaceful, the hint of a small grin on her lips.

Castiel swallows hard and squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, collecting himself. When he reopens them, he gently brushes a hand over her hair, moving silvery strands out of her face before murmuring quietly. "Rest well, sister."

The old woman doesn't reply, and her body remains still. The angel lets out a shaky breath and lowers his head dejectedly. Something in his chest aches at the act he just committed, but he knows it couldn't be helped. He reminds himself that though it was the only time, it was for a just reason. He'd kept his promise and set her free.

"Father," he murmurs into his sleeve, "Forgive me."

In the matter of a simple thought, Castiel is in the front of the shop again, quietly lifting the lock to the front door, and turning the wooden sign to say "open."

A moment later, he's thousands of miles away, sitting atop a familiar building in an American city. He's high above any other building in the area, and here the weather is warm and dry. The sun is dipping below the horizon, and a certain calm takes over him. Here, he should be able to think.

He gazes down at the pyramid in his hand, momentarily becoming lost in the swirling, blue light, before returning to his thoughts of before. Here he is with every opportunity in the world. Any question to be answered. But Castiel already knows what he wants. Not power - he's had enough of it in the past, and it never worked out well for him. Not knowledge - he already has more than any human on Earth. The Oracle could change anything for him, present or future, but the angel doesn't want to change Time either. He wants something small. Something simple that would change nothing for anyone but himself.

Ironic that it is the one thing that the Oracle cannot give him.

So instead, Castiel will use its power a different way, and he'll pray to his Father, that it work.

_"You have to be sure. You must understand everything you are giving up. It wont be like anything else you've experienced. Not a simple draining of the battery. Your grace can never be returned to you."_

_"I'm certain. "Its worth it."_

_"I hope so, Castiel. If not, I only pray that you can find something that is." _

Taking the pyramid in both of his hands, he closes his eyes tightly, bringing it to his lips. If what he knows of the object is right, he as one question or one request, and after a moment's consideration, he takes a breath, and whispers to the artifact wistfully.

"How do I become human?"

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_To be continued. Thank you for reading. Reviews are extremely appreciated. _


	2. Chapter Two

_Supernatural © Kripke, Singer_

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**Oracle**

**Part II**

He's never seen a storm develop so quickly.

The wind had seemed to move up out of nowhere only seconds after he'd spoken, and the clouds appeared to materialze out of nothing. A billowing, black mass, they came out of the sky, building rapidly until the final rays of the evening sun were extinguished. Just like that, the city went dark…

Castiel collapses against the brick wall of an alley, trying to escape the freezing rain that pelts against his skin like frozen needles, piercing him with cold. He's soaked through, the air is freezing, and damn, it's an incredible feeling. Incredible and terrifying, wonderous and heartwrenching, and _beautiful_.

Part of him wants to give in and stand in it. To tip his head back and let the icy drops cover him. To feel the cold in every way possible. Yet another part of him, a stronger part, new and powerful enough to control him, wishes to fight off the feeling. His body craves all that is warm and dry, and after a few moments of fighting with himself, this new part of him overcomes. Shaking and shivering, he stands back up and braces himself againt the wall with one hand, moving to the end of the alleyway and out into the street.

It's then that the pain strikes him again, a sharp, burning feeling that tears through his back. He lets out a wounded gasp and slumps back against the brick, leaning in the opening to the alley with his arms wrapped around himself. The burning continues, and through the cold of the rain mercilessly pelting him, he feels something warm spreading slowly across his back from between his shoulderblades. Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, he clears his head and tries to think around the cold ache and the burning pain, both piercing him viciously.

Just across the road there is a small, brick building with a tin overhang, and the rain is hitting it loudly, causing a strange echo through the passageway behind him. The large, front windows are lit with a warm glow, and Cas stops to think for a moment, focusing on the warm light to keep his head clear.

He needs to get ahold of someone who can help him, and lucky for him, there are only two people on this little planet who can. Jimmy's cellphone is in his pocket, and he knows the number he can call. First he needs to get out of the rain.

Cas tenatively pushes himself of the wall with his shoulder, cringing as another shock of pain rips through his back. Stumbling slightly, he makes his way across the city street as quickly as possible. A couple of cars roll by from either side, sending water splashing onto the sidewalk, headlights shining off raindrops, illuminating just how heavily it's pouring down. The street is already flooding from the shower and much of the water races past him, along the gutters and into the grates to the sewers below.

As he reaches the opposite sidewalk, he slows to a stop before doubling over in pain once again. The burning on his upper back is killing him, and for a moment, a wave of heat and nausea comes over his body, and a black fuzziness seeps in through the corners of his vision. Desperately, he takes a few deep breaths, ridding himself of it, before stiffly standing up straight.

Greatfully, he leans against the wall under the overhang, and pulls the cellphone from his pocket, heaving a sigh of relief when it turns on, shining brightly into his face. Without sparing a moment, he hits the send button twice and thrusts the reciever to his ear as he tips his head back heavily.

There's a pause on the end of the line before the empty resonance of rock music. Castiel waits anxiously, silently begging, pleading, _pick up. _The moment the music stops and a slight rustling is heard, another wave of relief washes over him, pure and incredible, and there's that wonderful _voice_.

"Mmfg. Hello?"

"Dean," he chokes out breathlessly, trying hard to ignore the burning sensation in his back. The other end doesn't wait for more than that.

"Cas, where have you been? Sam and I have been trying to reach you for hours."

Castiel manages a weak smile at the tone of concern in Dean's voice. "I'm afraid I've been a bit far away for that," he manages out, squeezing his eyes shut and baring his teeth in pain. "I'm sorry." He gasps as another shock tears through his back and the nausea fiercely comes with it. Curling into a ball, he slides down the wall and brings his knees to his chest, gritting his teeth together. "I'm in trouble, Dean," he chokes out, forcing himself to speak. "I need help."

"What kind of trouble?" The hunter's voice is suddenly on edge, filled with dark worry. "Cas, zap back here pronto and we'll do what we can to help."

"I can't zap anywhere," he replies weakly, his voice fading slightly as he speaks. "Please, Dean, hurry."

The hunter's next words come as a panicky whisper through the reciever. "Shit, Cas." There's a rustling before he's heard again, but his voice louder and somewhat shaky. "Alright, where the hell are you? Just tell me what street you're on and Sam and I will find you_." _There is more rustling, a light thump, and a different voice cursing loudly, _What_ _the hell, Dean?!_

Castiel looks around through blurring vision, and spots a street sign just across the road, glowing green from the reflections of passing cars. "Lithonia. Dean, I'm not sure how much longer I can stay awake."

"Stay awake..." Dean stops in the middle of tying his boots as his sentence fades into confused shock. Theres a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach and he swallows hard. For a moment, his eyes find Sam, sitting in the chair by their motel room door, quickly tying his own shoes. His brother feels his eyes on him and glances up, only to freeze and cock his head questioningly at Dean's worried look.

"Dean," Castiel's voice is quiet and shaky.

The hunter shakes his head and blinks rapidly, pulling himself back into the moment. "We're coming. Just stay there, don't move, and we'll be there in ten minutes, I promise. Stay there!" He pulls the cellphone from his ear and snaps it shut loudly.

"Dude, what's going on," Sam demands, almost viciously tying his last shoelace with worry.

"Cas," the older Hunter replies gruffly. "He's in trouble, hurry up." Grabbing his jacket, he thrusts his arms through the sleeves, then moves past his brother to the front door, swinging it open and moving through it, hurriedly.

Surprised, Sam snatches his own jacket from his bed and swings it over his shoulder, following his older brother as he races out into the rain. Confusion wafts over him as he tries to process Dean's words. "He said 'stay awake,'" he murmurs worriedly to himself as he runs towards the black Impala. "Angels don't sleep."

He's warm.

He doesn't understand it at first, why he wasn't feeling the harsh, bitter cold that was biting him only moments ago. It's as if someone snapped their fingers and it was suddenly different. Quiet, dry, soft.

There are voices. Quite and muffled, but he hears them, echoing slightly in his dazed state. His eyes are squeezed shut tightly as a slight thumping resonates in his head, making it difficult to decide to move. A light, familiar burning still pools in the area between his shoulderblades So, he lays still, breathing steadily, and waiting for full conciousness to come to him.

It returns slowly, leaking sense into his mind, and he realizes he's lying in a bed, tucked under a layer of soft covers. Gradually his body begins to crave motion. His back is stiff and his shoulders and neck ache from lying down. Very slowly and gently, he stretches his limbs and archs his back a bit, feeling relief from their aching almost imediately. He feels something in his spine realign and he lets out a relieved breath. That's when the pain returns.

Castiel's mind is forced into alertness and he hisses through his teeth, his whole body recurling into a ball. His eyes squeeze shut, and his breath catches in his throat as the sensation races over his back and arms before subsiding. Cas's teeth are pressed together as he clenches his jaw, and a whimper escapes his throat.

"Hey, stay still."

A special warmth spreads in his chest at the sound of the voice. Obediently, he lies still and tries to relax his body though the burning that is still prominant between his shoulderblades. Burrying his face in the crook of his arm, he waits.

Something touches his back and he flinches in fear that the pain will strike him again. But the contact is gentle, and there's a light tugging as something lifts from his skin.

Silence drags on for moments as he feels cool fingers lightly trail over his skin, under waht he thinks must be a bandage. They press lightly a of couple times, assumingly testing for tenderness, and Castiel tries not to flinch. A moment later and the bandage is reajusted to cover the spot that caused him pain moments before. The hunter says nothing.

"Dean-"

"How much do you remember, Cas?"

Spoken quietly yet in a dangerous tone, the question is demanding and leaves no room for it to be avoided. His face still burried in the crook of his arm, Castiel squeezes his eyes shut again.

"You'd better start to explain." Dean speaks after a few moments, still lingering in the same, quiet voice. Castiel feels the side of the bed sink.

"Where is Sam," He asks softly.

"He's out." No change.

Castiel slowly opens his eyes and, moving his arms sowly to avoid pain, rolls over onto his side. From the corner of his vision he sees the shadow of a dark figure in the dimly lit room, sitting close to him on the bed. He doesn't look Dean's way as he speaks, and instead stares blankly at the wall a couple feet in front of his face, unsure of what to say.

There's an exasperated sigh from beside him and he sees the hunter shake his head in the dark. "Why don't you start with what the hell these gashes are on your back, and why you've been unconcious for two days? Things like this have only happened to you when you've been cut off or worse."

Castiel turns his head surprise then, tilting it only slightly to better see the dark form in front of him. He realizes suddenly that he can't see Dean's face, focus as he might, and that the young hunter is simply a shadow in the dim light. A twinge of discomfort moves through him at that, and he swallows. "Two days," he inquires in disbelief.

"Just tell me what's going on, man. I mean, Sam and I found you curled up in an alley, bleeding like hell. Nothing around you, no badasses to gank, just you." Dean's voice changes from dangerous and into a quiet pleading as he speaks. "Tell me what's going on. Just let me help you."

There's a tug in his chest at the ache he hears in the older brother's tone, and Castiel slips his eyes shut again. A strange sense of fear grips him, and with it, a moroseness that he didn't expect.

It had never occurred to him just how Dean might take this.

Slowly, Castiel lets out a breath he was holding in, feeling it leave his lungs as his chest sinks. Shifting his eyes from Dean's dark figure, he momentarily stares off into the darkness of the room before stiffening and gingerly rising from the bed with a soft groan. After pulling himself onto his elbows, he slowly pushes himself up, sitting forward with a light cringe at the pain in his back. He can feel the hunter's eyes on him, and after a moment of hesitation, he raises his own to see them.

In the dim light, Dean's features are a shadowy outline, but his eyes are more visible now that he is closer. The hunter's face is turned away from him slightly, and he stares off off into space, a look of impatience splayed over his characteristics.

Looking upon those restless eyes, Castiel feels a familiar warmth grow within him from deep inside his chest and he swallows, pulling his eyes away from the man to look down at the sheets. Breathing deeply he tries to push away the feeling, but _damn_ he finds it so much harder than when Dean isn't near him.

The hunter stirs, turning his head to find Cas' eyes, and lets out a snort when he sees Castiel has turned away. From the corner of his vision, Cas sees him open his mouth to say something, and out of fear that he's upset him, he speaks first, his voice shaky but autible.

"I pulled out my Grace."

Dean's mouth snaps shut and he pulls back in surprise. There is a long moment of silence. The sound of a light thumping against glass lets Castiel know that time hasn't stopped, and that outside, it has begun to rain. The air suddenly feels thick around him.

When Dean finally speaks, Castiel can hardly hear him, and his heart wrenches as he detects fear in the man's voice.

"You what?"

"I pulled out my Grace," he repeats more evenly, but with difficulty. "I gave up my immortality."

Through the dark he can see the hunter shake his head in disbelief and he can make out the confusion in his green eyes. "Castiel," he speaks in a whisper, and Cas feels another tug in his chest as the hunter uses his full name, a rare occurence. "Why?"

Tenatively, Cas moves his hands to his sides and slowly pushes himself backwards to lean against the headboard of the bed. Dean watches him, but the fallen angel does his best to not make eye contact, and instead leans his head back to gaze up at the cieling.

"I know it will be hard for you to understand," he begins in a low voice, "but please try." He pauses, and Dean says nothing, waiting quietly for his friend to continue. "When the gate to Hell was sealed and the angels left Earth to restore Heaven, I had to make a choice. That being to return home and never set my Grace on this plane again, or to stay here. I know you know this because we spoke about it shortly after. What I didn't tell you was that when the gates to Heaven closed, I was cut away from my home."

He lifts his head to gaze at the dark figure sitting before him, but Dean hasn't moved. "I have no connection to Heaven any longer, Dean. My power has been draining since the day the war was won."

Lowering his eyes nervously, Castiel waits for Dean to speak, ready to hear an uproar of angry slurs and creative curse words. He's surprised when the hunter lets out a deep sigh and shakes his in disbelief. When he does speak, his voice holds a dejectedness that tugs on the Castiel's heartstrings.

"Cas," he begins with a resigned sigh. "Man, why didn't you tell me? I mean, why just go and make a decision like that without even talking to me or Sam about it. Assuming you didn't talk to Sam."

Castiel brings his eyes back up and he sakes his head. "No. It had to be my decision, Dean. Otherwise it wouldn't have felt right." He sighs himself and closes his eyes. "I know that to you it may seem like the wrong thing to have done."

"You're damn right, it does," the man replies gruffly, but still in a quiet tone. "I mean, what if something happens in the future that requires your power?"

"That's a chance I had to take."

Dean lets out an exasperated sigh and Castiel sees him raise a hand to his face. Leaning forward he opens his mouth to continue when there's a noise from his right, a doorknob being twisted. A moment later, the door to the hotel room opens, letting in a dim beam of sunlight that illuminates the enitre area, and the pitter-patter of light rain.

Castiel lets out a quite hiss and squeezes his eyes shut at the brightness of the sun, and he hears Dean let out an annoyed groan before someone else speaks.

"The hell, why is it so dark in here?" There's a click, and Cas sees red from behind his eyelids. "Hey, Cas, you're awake!"

Squinting against the light, he attempts to open his eyes and let them get used to the glaring brightness. "Hello, Sam."

There's a rustling of plastic bags and keys for a moment before he feels the other side of the bed sink, and Sam's voice is somewhat closer. "So," he asks cautiously. "What's going on?"

There's a pause as no one says anything, but Castiel finally opens his eyes fully. The younger Winchester is seated with one leg up on the opposite edge of the bed, his shoulderlength hair looking messy and slightly damp. He's glancing from himself to Dean expectantly, an air of nervousness about him.

"Well," the older brother says with another sigh, "It looks like we're not in as much trouble as we thought."

Sam nods and seems to relax a bit. "What happened?"

Castiel moves to speak, but Dean almost immediately cuts him off, his voice slightly irate. "Huggybear, here, pulled out his Grace."

There's another long pause, and Cas lowers his eyes to the sheets again, feeling Sam's eyes on him. Suddenly, he wants to disapear. To teleport away where neither of the brothers can cut into him with those questioning eyes. Ironic.

"Cas, is that true?" Sam asks it gently, but there's worry in his tone, and the former angel lifts his face for blue to meet hazel.

"Yes."

Sam keeps eye contact and nods slowly in understanding, but a moment later confusion clouds his features. "Uh," he begins gently, blinking quickly as if to see better, "why?"

"His power has been draining since the other angels closed off Heaven, Sammy," Dean speaks quietly, saving Castiel from explaining it again, and Sam glances his brother's way. "It looks like it wasn't going to be long before his entire battery was drained."

The younger hunter lets his shoulders sag and looks to the floor in morose thought. "I see," he whispers. "I guess you just wanted to get it over with then, Cas?"

Castiel lifts his face up and cringes a bit. "Yes. This way it was truly my choice. I already chose to stay, but I felt that if I was able to change things for myself, then maybe it wouldn't be as … challenging."

"The marks on your back, why you've been out of it the past two days. That's all from losing your Grace?"

Nodding, Castiel answers quietly. "Yes, Sam."

"Why didn't you tell us," the younger hunter asks curiously.

Dean snorts. "That's what I said."

Castiel lets out a sigh. "I had to do this myself. I felt as though if I spoke you either of you about it, you'd be opposed and it would make the decision more difficult."

Dean goes to speak, his eyebrows knitted in annoyance, but Sam cuts him off. "We understand, but hopefully next time you'll let us know what's going on before you call us in need of help? You had us really worried." The younger brother gives him an encouraging look, and Cas feels himself relax a bit as he nods.

"I'm sorry I worried you both, and I'm sorry if this prove to be of any," he turns to Dean as he pauses, meeting his green eyes, "inconvenience."

The older hunter shakes his head again, scowling slightly, but Sam nudges him with an elbow. "Yeah, it's fine," he breathes out. "One thing is for sure, we're going to have to get you some new clothes."

"And an ID of some sort," Sam adds. "Why don't you call Garth and see if you can whip him up an identity?"

"What do you mean," Dean replies standing up and adjusting his jacket. "Cas, don't you have your vessel's wallet or anything?"

Castiel thinks for a moment before shaking his head. "I don't believe I've ever been in possession of any of Jimmy's belongings."

The hunter lets out a sigh. "Yeah, alright, I'll call Garth. We'll just make him a whole new person or something."

"Under what name," Same inquires. "We can't really stick with Jimmy Novak."

"I don't know, something simple? I'll figure it out." He zips up his jacket and grabs his phone from the table. "I'll be back in a bit. Gonna see what I can figure out." He pauses in the doorway as he opens it, looking back at Castiel with a look of dismay. The former angel feels his heart sink.

As the door shuts, Sam suddenly gets up from the bed and pulls the blinds shut, locking the deadbolt in place. Castiel watches him in confusion as the younger brother spins back around and plops himself down in the chair across from the bed, before he speaks in a demanding tone.

"Alright, tell me everything."

Cas squints in confusion and tilts his head. "I'm not sure I uderstand what your'e asking."

Sam lets out a sigh and gives the former angel an irate look. Dean often refers to it as Sam's bitch face. "Come on, Castiel. You and I know very well that you didn't just pull out your grace. When Anna did that she was born as into a knew body." He pauses and takes a breath as Cas leans back into the headboard in resignation. "Tell me what's going on."

Looking up into the young brother's face, Castiel sees the determination there, and knows that he won't give this up easily. A twinge of guilt catches him off gaurd and after a moment of staring into Sam's penetrating gaze, he lets out an exasperated breath. "Alright."

Sam relaxes and leans forward a bit, looking expectant, and the former angel takes a moment to look around the room, gritting his teeth before throwing the sheets off of himself. Finding himself still in Jimmy's dress pants, he hesitantly stands on shaky legs, feeling the carpet under his bear feet. When he feels steady, he moves over to the dresser and looks into the mirror.

What he sees slightly surprises him. Jimmy's normally rugged apearance seems to have intensified over the past couple of days. His eyes are tired, burdened with dark circles, and his skin is paler than normal. His facial hair also seems to have overtaken his features, and he tenatively reaches up to touch his cheek with his fingertips.

He sees now that the bandage Dean was tampering with earlier is wrapped around his chest with medical tape, and he can just make out the pale, pale lines of an Enochian scar on his bare chest, peeking from beneath it. When he turns to get a view of his shoulders, he sees two vertical lines of blood that has seeped through, side by side between his shoulderblades.

Swallowing, Castiel rests back against the dresser, leaning against it for support. He feels himself shaking slightly, and inhales deeply before turning to look at Sam again.

Dean's younger brother is watching him curiously, a look of anticipation on his face, and Cas takes another breath before asking, "Two days?"

Sam nods with a twitch of his mouth. "Yeah."

Castiel sighs and shakes his head. "I want your word that you wont tell Dean any of this. I need to tell him in my own time."

Sam's brow wrinkles for a moment, but then relaxes as he offers the former angel an understanding half-grin. "Alright. I promise this will stay between us."

Passing a hand over his face, Castiel takes in another deep breath before letting it out and closing his eyes. "I did a bit more than take out my Grace, Sam. Removing one's essence is a very difficult and painful thing to experience, and as you said, normally it forces the angelic spirit into a human miracle. However," he pauses, searching the floor for his words. "There is a way that can be avoided. I never knew about it until recently. That's why I've been disapearing recently. To find out how I could manage this without complicating things."

He stops speaking for a moment and turns to stare at a picture on the wall, a simple painting of a small farm on a green hillside. He takes a second to marvel at how brilliant the colors are, and realizes that he's never quite seen anything like them before. The hotel room in itself is quite dark and dingy, but still, the colors on the walls seem more vibrant than he remembers much else.

"And?" Sam's voice cuts through his thoughts, and he looks back to the young hunter who is sitting with his body turned towards him, an aprehensive display hovering on his features.

Castiel blinks and nods appologetically. "And," he continues, "what I found was able to show me that it is possible. The apparent catch to being able to stay in control of one's vessel during the process is that the vessel must no longer be endowed with it's own soul."

Sam's eyebrows go up. "As in Jimmy," he sates questioningly.

"Yes," Cas answers again, and after taking a deep breath he comments, "I had to ask him permission to let him go so I might continue to use his body."

The young hunter looks at him in surprise before blinking rapidly. "Ask him to leave his own body?" Cas nods in answer. "Ask him how?"

"It's complicated, but it involved deep meditation and a bit of persuasion. Removing my grace was far more difficult. My wings…" He trailed off for a moment, reaching back to absentmindedly touch his shoulder, remembering, as a pang of angst moved through him.

There's a long silence. Sam shifts on the chair and clears his throat after a few moments, running his hands through his hair. "Cas," he says in a careful tone, and the former angel raises his eyes to meet his. "You did this for another reason than to just stay here, didn't you?"

Castiel stands from leaning against the dresser and turns slightly to look at his reflection in the mirror. He meets Jimmy's - his - blue eyes and studies them for a moment, seeing his own emotions pass over the rough features. When he speaks, his voice is barely a whisper. "Yes."

Sam is gentle. "Is it Dean?"

Cas turns quickly in slight surprise and locks eyes with the young man. They gaze at each other quietly for a moment, before Castiel sees a small shimmer cross Sam's gaze, and notices a tug at the corner of his mouth. The beginning of a sympathetic smile.

The doorknob turns and the door to the hotel is flung open. Both Sam and Cas jump slightly and the younger brother crosses his legs awkwardly to cover it, while Castiel quickly moves his gaze to the floor.

"Well, I called Garth," Dean says gruffly with an exasperated sigh, moving to Sam and handing him a crumpled piece of paper. "He's got someone working on making Constantine, here, a fake ID and birth certificate. All we have to do is go pick it up."

"What's this," his little brother asks, holding up the yellow notebook paper.

"Cas' new information he's going to be under. He needs to memorize it." The hunter lets out a growl as he reaches back to quickly pull his shirt over his head and off his body. "I'm gonna get a shower. You guys do whatever you feel like doing."

He moves past Cas without looking at him once, shouldering his way between he and Sam, who had abruptly stood up a moment after looked over the paper, before entering the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

Castiel's heart seems to burn inside his chest and, still staring at the floor, he lets out a shaky breath. "He's angry with me," he whispers in grief.

There's a pause, and the former angel looks up to see Sam staring down at the paper in his hand. "I'm not sure I would worry about that too much," the younger brother says with an odd grin, and Castiel tilts his head at him in confusion.

Hesitantly, Sam holds out the crumpled page and Castiel gently takes it from him curiously, hands barely trembling.

There on the page, scribbled Dean's messy handwriting, is a small list consisting of a few numbers, a birth date, and a name. A name that, to the brothers, and even to Cas, is one far too important to ever forget.

The former angel stares at it, blinking a few times in confusion. He looks to Sam who is standing quietly, gazing down at him with an odd, content look over his features, almost seeming to study him. Glancing back down at the paper he checks the name on page again and asks, "This is mine?"

Sam nods, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "Yeah, I guess it will be."

"I'm not sure if I could get used to being called that," he says weakly, and Sam huffs a laugh.

"We'll still call you Castiel. This is just what everyone we need to fool will know you by."

The former angel nods at this and lowers himself to the edge of his bed, still staring at the page in question. "I'm honnored," he breathes out. "I just hope Dean can forgive me."

Sam leans back against the dresser and nods understandingly. "He'll understand eventually. Sometimes it just takes him a while. Trust me."

Cas nods and holds the paper in both hands, staring down at it blankly.

"Why don't you try it out," Sam suggests gently.

"Try it out?"

"Say it a couple times," he explains. "Hear how it sounds coming from yourself so you can get used to it."

Castiel looks down at the paper in his hand. "I think I might keep it to myself for now, if it's alright. I wan't to get used to knowing it first."

Sam nods in understanding. "Alright. I'm gonna get some stuff out of the back of the Impala. Your back doing okay?"

Cas nods quietly, and Sam moves outside, shutting the door gently behind him.

Holding the paper in his hands, Castiel feels himself begin to tremble. The pain in his back seems to have deminished greatly. That, or it's being outshone by the emotions welling up from deep within him.

He swallows hard, suddenly feeling like his throat is tightening, and he blinks as his eyes begin to burn. Looking towards the closed door of the bathroom, he hears the soft sound of running water and thinks of how Dean reacted to telling him he was no longer an angel.

Looking back to the paper in his hand, he reads it over once more, taking in a deep breath before lowering his head, tears leaking from his eyes. Even with them squeezed shut, he still sees the name that Dean chose for him scribbled on the yellow, lined page.

_John Castiel Winchester_

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Please review. _


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